


old practices

by jaggedwolf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaggedwolf/pseuds/jaggedwolf
Summary: A rainy day in Lothering leads to Hawke barging in. Perhaps that's for the better.





	old practices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anaraine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/gifts).

"Ah, drats," said Marian, as her foot landed on what must have been the creakiest floorboard of the barn. 

The barn had seemed like a good option to escape the rain. Better than Mother finding her looking like a wet dog, she’d worry herself sick. Unfortunate that her plans to slip in without alerting Bethany had been dashed. Bethany stopped her staff’s weaving path through the air, and Marian watched in disappointment as the half-formed spell shimmering blue dissipated entirely. The initial look of worry on Bethany's face gave way to relief. 

Much better. Marian bowed, adding a little flair with her free hand. "No big bad templars, only your favorite sister." 

"You're my only sister." Bethany leaned her staff against a wall.

"I do try to go for competitions I can win,” said Marian, grinning. She pushed her rain-damp hair back out of her eyes. “Keeps my ego healthy. Though I don’t suppose Carver’s been an ass recently enough for me to win the favorite sibling contest?” 

Bethany looked unimpressed. The expression was far too familiar to Mother’s for Marian’s comfort. Marian righted a stool to sit on. “Well, go on then. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“If-is that ale?” asked Bethany, frowning at the mug of ale Marian held close to her chest. 

Marian took a sip. “It’s still warm if you want some.” 

Bethany glanced at her staff. She shook her head. “They let you leave with the mug?”

“Danal hardly thinks me a thief,” said Marian. She supposed she ought to update Bethany, who rarely ventured out to the tavern. “He wanted to talk about Father. Gave the whole long list of the usual condolences - don’t think you’re interested in a repeat performance - and sent me off with a pat on the back and the ale. I’m not about to complain.”

Bethany’s expression tightened. At which of those words, Marian couldn’t say. She almost preferred it that way. Finally, Bethany sighed and picked up her staff. 

Her movements paused, and she spoke before Marian could. A rare occurrence. “You don’t mind watching?”

“What do you mean?” asked Marian, confused. “I’ve watched plenty of times. I’m not about to go ‘oh, an apostate, Maker save me!’ in here. The ale won’t addle me that much.”

“No-I mean, you haven’t. Not since Father passed away.” Bethany’s shoulders sank. 

Hadn’t she? Marian mulled over the past few months. She supposed she hadn’t. There’d been plenty to do with Father gone and Mother grieving, Father’s friends in town reaching out. For a man who was hiding his magic from most people, he’d had a surprising number of those. Many who were eager to call on this Hawke now that the old one was gone. 

“I thought it might have reminded you too much of him,” said Bethany softly.

Ah. Marian supposed it made sense that this was how Bethany would grieve. Mother wept constantly, Carver threw his anger into his training and at everyone else, and Bethany tried to be the least inconvenient member of the family.

“You’d need a much better beard for that, sister.” Marian gave a short laugh. “A bald spot too. He’d had that one before the illness.”

“You’re horrible,” said Bethany, but the corner of her lips quirked upwards. “Do you remember the first time you watched Father teach me?”

“Of course I do.” Marian directed a suspicious look towards the barn entrance. “Probably the same delightful floorboard that betrayed me then too, come to think of it. Must have been what, ten years ago?”

Bethany had been seven, and Marian had found her hiding behind Father’s robes. It had taken Marian a second to realize that her Father’s raised staff and her sister’s fear had been directed at her clumsy entrance, not at some other intruder. Something she hadn’t the words for then had sunk in her stomach.

Then Father had simply laughed, loud and comforting. His laughter had always filled a room better than any crowd. It had been a marvel, being the one to make him laugh, even if she’d started to suspect as she’d gotten older that it was less the humor of her remarks and more that it was her. That day, however, the laughter hadn’t seemed to reassure Bethany. She’d tugged down on his robes to whisper something in his ear. 

Father’s face had turned unusually serious. Marian had been sure she’d been about to get more chores in addition to the ones she’d ditched to sneak off to the barn. And she hadn’t even gotten to see any magic, so any punishment would’ve been ridiculously unfair, really. Father had gestured her over before she could defend herself. He had crouched down, his head level with Bethany’s and lower than Marian’s.

Marian didn’t remember everything he had said. The man could go on for quite a while. But she did remember the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, and the gist of the lesson imparted.

_Magic has its dangers, yes, and there are those who would imprison Bethany and I for it,_ Father had said, _but you must never think it something to be hidden from family or something to live in fear of. It is as much a part of Bethany and I as our eyes and hands._

Marian had watched plenty of practices after that. Even Carver had watched a couple. Despite knowing nothing of magic, Marian had been able to tell when Bethany had grown from hesitant mimicry to making the skill her own.

Today, Marian faced a Bethany who was seventeen years old, not seven. Marian fidgeted on her stool, leaning it on one leg and then another. “I could always pick up a stick and stand next to you twirling it. Would that make it less weird?”

“It really wouldn’t.” A small smile grew on Bethany’s face. “Don’t be distracting while I practice.”

Marian made a sound of mock-offense, but Bethany gave no reply. Letting her weight pull the stool back on to all its legs, Marian took a gulp of ale. Almost couldn’t taste the rainwater that had gotten into it.

Bethany settled into her spellwork. Marian’s eyes traced the colors curled into and away from the tip of Bethany’s staff. The rainfall grew heavier. The sound and scent of it filled the air. Watching her sister at work, Marian’s hands itched for her sword. Perhaps one day she’d persuade her sister to spar with her.

For this evening, Marian was content to quietly watch. 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit to eggshrimproll. As always, I can be found at jaggedwolf on tumblr and dreamwidth.


End file.
